Hey guys, sorry for the wait! I've been busy, and aside from that is the news that I'm going to have a baby SISTER! Thanks for being patient!
Later
Uncle Wilfred is in no hurry to get to Nick Hollow, that much is clear. In fact, the closer we get to our destination, the more he seems to slow down, stopping to check on ridiculous things until I finally give up letting him lead the way and take charge. This isn't like him. It's funny, me acting the part of the responsible adult while he lags behind. I am rarely given the chance to lead, mostly because I have a terrible sense of direction. But I also tend to get sidetracked quite a bit, which is probably because on the inside, I never got any older than twelve, and Uncle Wilfred knows it. Neither Smalls nor I are afraid to contradict him, but It's a –not quite un– but very rarely spoken rule that what he says goes. I miss the Uncle Wilfred who laughed, and had a light in his eyes that could brighten a thousand nights. But I haven't seen him in sixteen years. I highly doubt that he's going to come back very soon, if ever. His eyes look more and more weary these days.
For a good reason, too.
The Secret Citadels are growing restless, and most of them want to see him–us–put to justice. I've kept this next thought private, because I know that Uncle Wilfred would deny that it's true, but here it is anyway:
It's me. They can hate Uncle Wilfred for not seeing it coming, but it's so different for me. I'm the traitor's own daughter. Wouldn't it just be easier if they executed me? Then they could all feel at ease, knowing that Sabine Longtreader, the traitor's spawn, is out of the way? I know it's true. Uncle Wilfred can pretend all he wants, but I'm no longer eight years old. He can't protect me anymore.
He doesn't know any of this, and he never will, as long as I'm around to keep it that way. But it's getting harder and harder. Sometimes, when we have to share close sleeping quarters, he corners me for muttering things in my sleep. At least I sleep willingly. That's more than I can say for Smalls. Speaking of, he's walking next to me again, glancing uneasily back at Uncle Wilfred, who seems to have tuned out the entire world around him.
"He's doing it again." We both know what Smalls is talking about.
"I noticed." I've been ignoring it on purpose so far, but Smalls can be blunt if he wants to be.
"So… Are we going to do anything about it?" Smalls lowers his voice, because even if he is thinking, Uncle Wilfred is always alert.
"Probably best not too." I lower my voice, too.
"Do you think he's alright?"
"No,"
"And we're not doing anything."
"Nope."
Smalls and I, we've been growing apart lately. I'm not completely sure what it is, but it's not good. We've both been puting our feelings in a bottle for too long, Smalls even more than me. We used to be able to talk to each other about these things. Now it's just… Tense.
"Five miles left." Uncle Wilfred interrupts my brooding, which is probably a good thing.
"Got any more Taffy?" Smalls unbuttons the front flap of my pack without waiting for an answer, and pillages the last of my candy stash.
I scowl. "I was saving that for–"
"Me?"
Maybe we're not as far apart as I thought.
I smirk. "Got any more fudge?" Following his example, I kidnap his jar of gooey liquid chocolate, stealing a whittled spoon to go with it. Yes, I eat hot fudge straight out of the jar. Go ahead and laugh.
At the three mile mark, Uncle Wilfred 'confiscates' my treat and eats the rest, which I take to be a sign that he's getting back to normal. At the two mile mark, I swipe the last piece of Taffy straight from Smalls' hands, and the candy is finished.
When we finally make it to Nick Hollow, I'm drenched because Smalls pushed me into the stream, he has mud all over his tunic because I had to get him back somehow, and Uncle Wilfred looks like he might be sick. I catch the smell first.
Smoke.
When the sharp scent reaches Uncle Wilfred's nose, his eyes widen, and he breaks into a sprint, leaving Smalls and I scrambling to catch up. When we've rounded three more bends and my lungs are burning, we reach the outskirts of a meadow, where a large Elm tree is clearly someone's home. But there's something awful happening.
The Elm tree is burning.